


The (Dis)advantages to being Tim Drake

by Onlymostydead



Series: Disadvantages [1]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Dysphoria, Fluff, Gen, Minor Character Death, Trans Male Character, Trans Tim Drake, Unsafe Binding Practices, asthmatic Tim, trans boy Tim drake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 17:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15690141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlymostydead/pseuds/Onlymostydead
Summary: At first Tim thought he was a lesbian, then bi, then pan- until it all hit him: nothing felt right because he was a boy.He finds his place, his family... Eventually. Not that it's easy.





	1. An Attack

**Author's Note:**

> Self indulgent fic! If there's no (or you've read all of it) content, you gotta make it yourself.

At first, Tim just thought he was a lesbian. Of course, he never said a word of that to his parents, or anyone at school; when you're nine years old, people tend to not listen to you about much. That was stupid- after all, who knew him better than he did? No one.

But as time went on... He started thinking guys were cute, too. So he updated the terminology to bi, and later chose pan instead, and moved on. It wasn't a big deal, he would tell his parents when he was older and it would all be fine... Right?

When he was ten was when things started to really hit. It started with not wanting to shave his legs like all the 'other' girls in his class, and spread to hating the uniform. More than the uniform itself he hated the way older men stared as he walked by, the ten year old 'girl' in the short skirt he had to wear by school rules.  
After that, it was hair. Tim always had long black hair, just like his mother's. Every time he looked in the mirror, it was like it was wrong. He tucked it into neat buns to keep it out of his face, but that wasn't enough.  
He learned how to do makeup, because that was what all the girls his age were doing when they hung out; even though he hated looking at himself. It just looked wrong on his face... Even though all the 'other' girls looked just great.  
He couldn't stand it when it came down to his interests, namely, that they weren't 'conventional.' No one thought it was 'quirky' that he liked sneaking out to watch Batman and Robin through the city; they just thought it was weird. No one understood why he 'still' didn't know how fashion worked. His friends didn't get why he seemed so detached from them.

Eleven changed everything. Robin was gone- had been gone, for a while now. Someone had to take his place. Pulling on a hat to cover his hair, and a baggy hoodie to cover his body, Tim sought out Nightwing to convince him. The disguise wasn't necessary, but Tim rationalized by saying that it was a good idea, being the child of a wealthy family.  
And, in reality, he just liked it. The clothes, the fake name- it was amazing.

Which is why, when Dick wanted him to be Robin, he nearly lost his mind. Thankfully his parents weren't home- because if they were they would have known immediately. He knew how to purchase things online; that was all too easy. Two binders were delivered to the door by the next week- finding them in his size had been a hassle, though.  
The scarier part was the hair. Tim couldn't do it himself, he knew that. He had to pretend to be his mother- a trick he had employed before- get an appointment, go to the appointment, make sure no one saw him, and more importantly: make sure no one questioned why his mom wasn't there.

In hindsight, it was easy- but his nerves didn't calm down until he had been at home for twenty minutes, his hair sufficiently 'boy short.'

***

Which is what landed him in this mess.

It wasn't his asthma; he knew how to identify that much. Instead, Tim lay in the middle of the training floor, wheezing. It wasn't his asthma he just couldn't breathe for fucks sake-

Batman rushed over with his inhaler, and he took it by virtue of trying to get his breathing under control. It wasn't working.

A thought flashed across Tim's head about the binder, and how it was squeezing into him. That was probably the problem; how many articles did he read about not exercising in one? 

Too many to have not payed attention, that was for sure.

Struggling, he sat up. Bat- Bruce, was helping him. He still couldn't breathe, but tried to make it sound more under control. Flashing a thumbs up, he attempted to stand-

-And immediately fell back down. 

"I'm fine, fine-" he choked out, but found even that difficult.

Blinking, Tim tried to pull himself together. No, there was no way to get to the bathroom, let alone get Bruce to leave him in there, take off his binder, put his shirt back on, and pretend he was fine. Hell, he didn't even think he could get his binder off on his own.

And breathing was becoming increasingly difficult; black spots danced before his vision.

"Binder-" Tim finally admitted. "Off-"

Bruce didn't seem to understand, his eyes narrowed in confusion- then all of a sudden he very much understood. In an instant he was lying Tim back down on the ground, getting up, and calling for Alfred.

In his current state, Tim had no break from the mortified feeling in his chest other than the humor of how his eyes had widened. Truly, Bruce didn't know how expressive his face was.

In a few moments Alfred was down, seemingly having been told about the situation.

Great, now both of them have to see me topless, Tim thought to himself.

As soon as Bruce had appeared though, he was gone. Alfred was behind him; lifting him up and asking if he could hold his arms above his head. Tim complied, every single way he could have avoided this situation running through his head.

Not exercising in a binder, for one.

Not long after, Tim felt his ribs expand fully once more. The pure relief was enough to distract him, momentarily, from the fact that he was now topless in the middle of the batcave. 

There had to be cameras in here!

"Can I have my shirt?" Tim whispered, as loud as he could manage. 

Alfred, still respectfully sitting behind him, handed it to him. Shivering, Tim pulled it on.

He swallowed. "Thanks, Alfred."

"You are welcome, Master Timothy." He replied. "Though, may I advise you on the dangers of wearing a chest compression binder while doing strenuous physical activity?"

Too focused on how Alfred had said 'Master Timothy' without any awkward gender hesitation, he nodded.

He didn't even care how long the lectures he got were, just that he had found a place he could be himself.


	2. Things Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, this is just sad.

"Timothy Jackson Drake," Bruce grunted through clenched teeth. "How many times do I have to tell you that you are not allowed - for your own safety - to go on patrol wearing your binder?"

Tim froze, sure that having gotten dressed in the other room would have hidden that little detail. Bruce would have had to be looking for it, but what would have alarmed him?

Oh, yeah- changing in the other room.

"Yes, Bruce." Tim called back, turning around to head upstairs. "I'll be back down in three."

Tim didn't see it, but he knew Bruce nodded. He always did. Eager to keep his promise of three minutes, Tim rushed up the stairs. 

He knew better, really. In fact, time and time again had proven that to be a bad thing to do. More than once he had been incapacitated - during training or otherwise - because of it. Still, he tried.

Why bother?

Tim got to his room, turned on the light, and felt his shoulders immediately drop.

"No time for moping," he argued, but his body didn't seem intent on listening. "Time for moping after patrol."

'His room' of course, was pushing it. It wasn't like he stayed there, when his parents were home, anyway. It was just a place to crash, in case he needed it. Despite that, there were always a good amount of sports bras in the drawers.

Tim rolled his eyes, stripping out of the top of his suit, then his binder. Pointedly, he ignored looking at himself in the mirror.

Every single time his parents were back from their business trips, every day, he promised he would tell them. He was just so sick of being their 'daughter' and, and-

Tim tried very, very hard not to look at himself in the mirror. It would only make him more upset. Instead, he walked over to the drawer set and pulled on a sports bra. It wasn't like you could tell, when he was in the suit; Bruce had designed it with that specifically in mind. Nothing about it betrayed a... Feminine figure.

Other than his height. And his hips. And his voice. And his thighs. And his face-

Shaking his head, Tim pulled the top of the suit back on. He couldn't do that now, he needed to be back down in the cave. He looked over to the mirror.

He needed to be Robin.

With a nod at himself, he turned, opened the door, and rushed down to meet Bruce- Batman, right now.

"You alright?" He asked when he got there.

"Yep." Tim lied. "Just forgot. Let's go."

Bruce cast him an odd look, but said nothing more of it.

***

Tim swore he would tell his parents every single day, but time kept passing. It was never the right time, or there was something else important, or they were just plain never home.

Then they were kidnapped, poisoned, tortured- and his mom didn't make it back.

It could be worse, Tim considered, because after all he really didn't see her much. He loved her, but it wasn't like her absence was something he wasn't used to. If she hadn't died, he thought, he may have resented her for that. But with his mom dead and his dad in the hospital, there wasn't anything he could do.

Except tell his dad, of course. As soon as he was awake and they could talk and he had time to grieve for mom. They hadn't loved each other much, either- but they were still close associates, at the very least.

Time thought, in the weeks before they went missing, he had seen divorce papers.

But he woke up. And he started being able to talk, and grieve, and walk with assistance from Dana. Then he was dating Dana and asking for his approval on it and no moment was ever... His. Tim realized that when Dana wanted to have some heart to heart 'girl talk' between the two of them, and he just started to cry.

"It's fine- I'm fine," he insisted, but the tears wouldn't stop.

Tim wished they would; he hated crying in front of people. As much as Steph said it was just toxic masculinity talking, it felt... Wrong.

"Hey, it's okay." Ever the compassionate one, Dana wrapped her arm around his shoulder. "May I hug you?"

Less awkward than the alternative, Tim nodded. Soon enough he was wrapped up in the warm, if slightly itchy, arms of her wool sweater.

"Just missing my mom." He choked out the lie, falling easily into her embrace.

So she held him, gently talking about things Tim listened to, but didn't care very much about. The only thing the whole encounter made him feel was alone.

***

Gotham was falling fast. The gangs, the shooting at his own school- it was obvious to Tim, as well as everyone else.

But what he wasn't expecting was the call- the activity at his own address. Two bodies, two gunshots, two bullets fired at the exact same time.

Tim couldn't do anything but hold his father for as long as he could, as long as he could take before Gotham whisked him away again.

The vague thought occurred to him that he should have told him, that he should have spent more time with him.

But that was too late now.


	3. A Drawing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the (semi) cute one!

"Damian, why are you looking at me like that?"

It had been a long time, at least a year and a half, since Damian became a permanent fixture in the home. He and Tim had gotten over hating each other a while ago, and had settled into a kind of quiet apathy.  
But, as of now, Damian was staring intently as his body, sketchbook in hand. He had taken to drawing, being a 'human hobby,' but it had just made things... Weird.

"You have a strange physique, Drake," he commented, squinting as he looked up from page to body. "It's quite interesting."

Tim groaned. "Don't remind me."

"No." Damian didn't look up from his paper, other than quick glances. "It's quite beautiful. Your legs make a striking silhouette."

Tim frowned, wishing he had thought to throw on a pair of sweatpants. As it was, he had just wandered downstairs in his boxers.

"From an unbiased perspective, of course." Damian quickly added. "I find you as repulsive as ever."

"Of course." Tim sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "What was I doing?"

"Going to get breakfast." He reminded.

"Talking to myself- but thanks." Tim grumbled his way down to the kitchen, trying not to think too much about the encounter.

***

"Drake..."

The way Damian said his name was not good. It was too slow, not quite crisp enough for Damian's over-perfect pronunciation.

"What is it, Demon Brat?" Tim said, not bothering to look over his shoulder.

Truthfully, he wasn't busy; but Damian didn't need to know that. All Damian needed to know was that he didn't want him here.  
Truthfully, the kid gave him the creeps. Especially since the comment about his legs on... Whenever that was. He had been low-key avoiding him ever since.

And wearing baggy sweatpants. Nothing but baggy sweatpants.

"May I draw you?" He asked, still a little too... Relaxed.

Tim shrugged. "You don't normally ask, you just do it. What changed-"

"No, I would like..." Tim could practically hear his face scrunch up. "I would like it very much if you modeled for me."

Tim thought about it for a moment, and what he was wearing. Baggy sweatpants, boxer briefs, a tank top style binder, and a hoodie. That wouldn't be too bad to strip out of the outer layer, except for that comment about his legs.

"Sure." The word came out of his mouth before he even thought about it.

"When?" Damian asked, voice back to being stiff. "You are just pretending to be busy, are you not?"

Tim groaned, spun around in his chair, and stood up. Taking a moment to blink the dark spots in his vision, he took a deep breath.

"Fine, where do you want me?"

***

As it turned out, modeling for Damian wasn't that bad. He did several quick poses first, then a couple longer, then-

"Drake... Could you remove your shirt?" Damian asked, clearly embarrassed.

"What, you wanna draw me topless?" Tim said on reflex. "Gross."

"No!" Damian huffed, crossing his arms. "That is disgusting. I merely want to be able to get a more anatomical practice in."

Tim shook his head. "No can do."

His thoughts were racing a hundred miles an hour. Why did Damian think that was okay? Was this all just a cruel prank? Did he actually want to see him without his binder? Did he know?

Oh shit, did he know?

"Why not?" Damian cocked his head to the side.

"Oh... Crap." Tim stretched his back. "Damian, do you know what trans means?"

Damian snorted. "Of course I know what it means. Latin: across."

Sighing, Tim sat down on Damian's bed. "That's true... I'm, uh..."

Immediately, he stiffened. "You are a transsexual?"

"Well, that's not a word that's used anymore." Tim explained. "No, I'm transgender."

Damian's brows furrowed. "You mean to say, you were born a girl?"

"Assigned female at birth." Tim corrected. "But... Yeah?"

"So... That would not be decent." Damian summarized.

Tim nodded. "Unless you want to see my tits."

He paled. "I have no desire, ever, to see your... Breasts."

Tim cringed at the word. "Well, that's good."

He nodded. "Well, that explains why your 'penis' does not hold up to close scrutiny."

Tim shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"And why you have such beautiful legs."

"Okay, you can shut up about my legs." Tim frowned.

Damian shrugged. "It is just like everyone talking about Grayson's ass- that is a 'feminine' feature."

"Yeah..." He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Not the same."

"If you would prefer me not to-"

"Yes." Tim interrupted. "Can you just... Keep it to yourself?"

Damian nodded. "It is a purely artist standpoint, not an interest in you, but yes- I will refrain from mentioning it."

"Ok." Tim yawned. "Next pose, I'm guessing?"

Nodding again, Damian got his sketchbook back out. "You had better get comfortable, this one is going to take a while."

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr, either Supertinywords if you live my writing, or Supertinybats if you want to talk more about Trans DC <3


End file.
